Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

and water lily, and sometimes of dew-soaked jasmine, and then of dry desert.
    Ammit stopped and I almost cried out. I wanted to keep running.
    The reality came back, fading in through the magic. We were in front of the Cutting Edge office.
    The magic of Ammit swirled around us, evaporating slowly, like distant notes of perfume dissipating from the skin.
    A second Ammit thundered down the street toward us, a huge black horse following it. Roman dismounted next to us,his staff in his hand. He wore a tank top and black pajama pants with an Eeyore pattern.
    “I have had it with this shit,” he announced. “I got woken up in the middle of the night, didn’t get any sleep again, rode across the whole damned city,
nu na cherta mne ato nuzhno
.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “Damn magic everywhere, making me sneeze.”
    The Ammit next to him opened its mouth. Roman whacked it with the top of his staff on the nose. “You—shut up.”
    The Ammit looked just like a cat who had gotten popped with a newspaper: half-shocked, half-outraged. Roman surveyed the two of us. “What’s the matter with you two? Why do you look all dazed?”
    The magic melted, taking the visions of the Nile with it. My mind struggled to formulate a coherent thought, any thought. I opened my mouth. “Your pajamas have Eeyore on them.”
    “I like Eeyore. He’s sensible. A sober outlook on life never hurt anyone.”
    Raphael shook his head, trying to clear it. “What are you doing here?”
    Roman grimaced. “How would I know? Last night I helped Andrea and then a winged
gadina
took my staff, and tonight I woke up with this varmint howling under my window.”
    Raphael turned to me. “Last night? After I called you?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Why didn’t you call me to come and help?”
    “Why would I call you? You can’t do magic.”
    The wheels slowly turned in Raphael’s head. He looked at Roman. “How long have you been helping her?”
    Roman’s face took on a dangerous expression. “I’m sorry, since when do I answer to you, exactly?”
    The two men squared off. Great. I tried the door of the office. Unlocked.
    Raphael stepped forward. Roman did, too. They stood dangerously close.
    “I asked you a question,” Raphael said, his voice saturated with menace.
    Roman’s voice turned icy. “And I told you to fuck yourself. Which part wasn’t clear?”
    “Hey!” I snapped.
    They looked at me.
    “The door is open,” I said. “You can stay out here and compare inches for the entire night, but I’m going inside.”
    I swung the door open and stepped across the threshold.
    The office was bathed in a gentle yellow glow. The air smelled of sweet myrrh, fiery cinnamon, balsam, and the smoky, spicy mix of thyme and marjoram. The pungent aroma didn’t seem to drift but saturated the room, hanging in the air, filling the place.
    I stepped inside. My desk and Kate’s were missing. Four braziers, bronze dishes filled with some sort of fuel on tall metal stems, burned bright, set on both sides of a large chair. In the chair sat Anapa. He rested his cheek on his hand, bent at the elbow and leaning on the chair’s armrest, one long leg over the other.
    Flames played in his eyes. He looked absurd, sitting there in his makeshift throne room, wearing a three-piece black suit. Thought he owned this place, did he?
    I crossed my arms. “Love the makeover. The room has so much more space now. How much do we owe you?”
    “Who are you?” Roman asked behind me.
    “That’s Anubis, God of the Dead,” I told him.
    “The name is Inepu,” Anapa said. It sounded midway between Anapa and Enahpah. “The Greeks didn’t bother to pronounce it properly. I always found them very close-minded. Don’t follow their suit, you’re better than that.”
    “You aren’t a god,” Roman said. “Gods can’t walk the Earth. Don’t have enough juice.” He turned to me and Raphael. “Trust me, I’ve tried to summon one.”
    “Why the hell would you summon a god?” Raphael asked.
    “He was trying to kill his cousin,” Anapa said.
    “That was a long time ago.” Roman waved his hand.
    Anapa’s lips curved, and he smiled a bright genuine smile, suffused with humor. “No, that was last May.”
    “Like I said, a long time ago,” Roman said.
    Anapa laughed and pointed his finger at Roman. “I like you.”
    “Are you a god?” Raphael asked.
    Anapa waved his hand. “Yes and no. The answer is complicated.”
    Right, we were too stupid to